lovesong
by a constellation of tears
Summary: she doesn't believe in love anymore. he doesn't believe in anything anymore / they meet each day, same table, same time. they write, albeit in different languages / they watch each other, we watch it begin again. FourTris. Initially inspired by Taylor Swift's Begin Again. Title credit to The Cure. Cover image doesn't belong to me.
1. at a café, we watch it (begin again)

**The first in a series of one-shots revolving a café, a Wednesday, and our lovely FourTris.**

* * *

 _some decisions you regret, some decisions you loathe. and some decisions, you're glad_

It's not the first time they're noticing each other when he slides into the chair opposite hers, flashing her a small smile. She's caught glimpses of azure eyes and snaking flames; he's seen flashes of dull blonde hair and graphite birds. She smiles back at him tentatively, contemplating talking to him before making a split-second decision and saying, "Tris."

He looks up, his blue, blue eyes confused behind his dorky glasses, letting out a "Huh?"

"My name," she says. "It's Tris," now wondering whether she should have just kept her mouth shut and carried on with her own business.

Her doubts are wiped away when he gives her that smile again, the one that sends her stomach into a flurry. Most hot guys had an arrogant smile, like they'd been told they were good-looking from a young age, but his was shy, like he was surprised you even bothered to look at him.

"I'm Fo-" Four, he's about to say, but then he decides it's time to leave behind that name and leave behind that identity and says instead, "Tobias."

And she's glad she decided to talk to him as she gives him a full, toothy smile unlike the fleeting one earlier and repeats, "Tobias."

:::

Tori's is unusually crowded that day, and Tobias's eyes widen fractionally as he takes in the chattering groups at almost every table. He's annoyed because the typically calm and serene café is the only place he can code in peace. Zeke always has a girl over, or contradictorily, is pining over Shauna – also, the fact that the place has free WiFi and sells scrumptious chocolate cake doesn't hurt.

He weighs his options: he doesn't know how to navigate the city in search of another joint where he can code peacefully for a while, so it's either here or back to the apartment two blocks away that he shares with Zeke.

Tobias lets out a sigh and starts weaving through the rows of tables, unable to find a single unoccupied one. Finally, he gives up and makes his way towards Tori, who's watching him from behind the counter with a smirk.

"Do you mind sharing?" she asks, wiping off on a towel before walking off, not checking to see if he's following or not.

Tobias quickens his strides, clutching his laptop as he grumbles, "As long as they don't try to talk to me."

He follows her to a two-seater table where a blonde girl, no, _the_ blonde girl, the one he'd seen so many times in passing, was already seated, scribbling furiously in her notebook, the gray one with the black birds sketched in pencil all over the cover.

She looks up as he sets his laptop down and he's thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she tried to talk to him after all.

.

.

It's eight years later, and he's standing in a tux at the head of a table, one hand clutching Tris's, the other balancing a flute of champagne.

And he's glad the café was crowded that Wednesday, glad Tori led him over to Tris's table, and they're toasting to her for that day and the years that followed, for the identical rings on their fingers.

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 **More chapters to come. Please leave a review!**

 **xo**


	2. somebody catch my breath

**Hey! Second drabble/one-shot/short-chapter-thing. Just to be clear, I wanted to mention that the chapters aren't in chronological order. This one is set before Tris and Four meet.**

* * *

 _we've got heavydirtysouls (help me out)_

The sunlight filters through the glass panes and falls on the ruled page of her notebook. She's thinking about her family. She's always thinking about her family. It's been almost two years since she last saw their faces. Her father. Her mother. Caleb.

It's been a year since she met him. Peter. It's been eight months since she found him making out with Nita on the couch in their apartment.

She'd been so desperate for love; to _be_ loved.

She didn't love Peter, of course, she'd never loved him. She didn't even like Peter. Maybe, if she hadn't been so blind, she'd have realized that earlier. She'd have realized that all love ever does is break and burn and end. She wonders why people even bother with love, wonders why _she_ bothered with love when it never lasts.

She directs her gaze back to the gray notebook that her mom gifted her. She'd been rummaging through the attic a few weeks after her parents died, deciding on a whim that she wanted to sell the house (until her godmother convinced her not to); it boxed too many memories, too many phantom noises, when she found the book.

It was a journal of sorts that Natalie had given her shortly after she revealed at a family dinner that she wanted to pursue a career in writing instead of going into politics like her parents. Andrew had thrown a fit but Natalie had embraced her, planting a kiss on her head. The next day, Natalie had given her a copy of Roald Dahl's Matilda, and the journal, inscribed with "I love you, no matter what."

Tris still feels her mother's hand ghosting over her shoulder, her fingers weaving through her hair as she runs a finger over the intricately sketched birds on the cover, flipping it back and forth.

It'd been Tori's design, but Tris had practiced and perfected her own version of the ravens, three birds in flight.

She imagined the birds often, strong strokes of their dark wings carried them further away from her, people she'd loved and lost. Once, she'd contemplated adding one for Peter, then laughed for a full minute afterward.

She'd never used it, preferring to type and now the neatly ruled lines give her sudden inspiration and the words start flowing, her ink bleeding into the paper. She has to meet a deadline in two weeks and send in her draft for the final novel in her high fantasy trilogy and that wasn't much time to write three-quarters of a novel.

.

.

Her vison is murky. Gray. (The world is clear when she writes.)

White noise everywhere, like she's underwater. (The music flowing through her earbuds sounds perfect.)

And she wants it to end.

She wants to be like them. She wants to take flight, soaring up, up and then plunging deep down.

She wants to dive into death.

:::

 _His father's eyes were pitch black, two soulless pits in his mind._

His _eyes are red. He stares at them in the mirror, his face a replica of his father's._

 _His periphery pools with a blinding mix of black and red and white, black and red and white, black and red and white._

Tobias sits up with a shout. He pulls in air and runs a hand over his eyes, through his hair, chest heaving with relief.

He's in bed. It was a nightmare.

He hopes Zeke hasn't heard his scream. The nightmares descend upon him every now and then. They never make any sense; all he knows is he has to relive his sucky past over again every time he has one. Phantom lashes on his back tingle, and he breathes heavily. A sudden fear flares up – he knows its stupid but he still springs off the bed and whips his shirt off, running his palms over his back awkwardly to make sure there's no blood.

He crosses over to the mirror in the bathroom. His eyes are still blue.

He stares at the parts of his scars that have managed to make their way to the edges of his chest. They are reminders of his weakness. His cowardice.

And he wants to make them reminders of his survival. His strength.

.

.

The next day, he's opening the door of the tattoo parlor Tori mentioned.

* * *

 **I apologize for any mistakes. Thanks to twenty one pilots for inspiration. Please leave a review!**

 **xo**


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